Good Swimmer
by Mirwalker
Summary: On the cruise to Africa (just before Season 4 opener), Miller faces unexpected life and leadership lessons. (Teaser prologue posted. Characters and genres may evolve.)


_**The Last Ship**_

 **Good Swimmer**

By Mirwalker

 _A teaser prologue for plot bunny I just need to get out of my head. Hoping I can corral more of that current herd into progress on at least one work in progress… Alerts and constructive reviews always help!_

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

Rather than the usual shoes, flip-flops, or even just socks in the head at this late hour, Miller could make out a pair of entirely bare legs sticking out of the narrow, open stall. They jerked as he approached, followed by the unmistakable sound of retching, coughing and groaning. _Someone's worshipping at the stainless steel throne… Probably seasick._

The ship rocked again in the rough Gulf of Mexico swells.

Another gag, twitch and stomach emptying. _Very seasick._

"You OK in there?" he called, sympathetic but still smiling.

The figure jumped slightly at the sound of an audience; and the toilet flushed, as the startled sailor struggled to gather his posture and dignity. Another wild move by the room turned him just in time to see his visitor, before he sank to a new round of dry heaving.

"Biggs!" Miller started himself now, amusement dropping away as he stepped over to help the ragged-looking newbie.

The younger man breathed heavily over the low basin, spitting nothing several times, before he finally wiped his arm across his face. "I'm fine, Miller. Leave it." That he didn't turn to face his shipmate only added evidence to the contrary.

But the elder sailor could tell this was more than a mild discomfort; his shipmate was clearly quite ill. "I knew you didn't look good at dinner; but I didn't realize how bad off you were."

"Promise it wasn't the food," the ship's junior-most culinary specialist tried to joke. "I've felt worse; it'll pass," he tried to convince them both. "Don't let me keep you." The room shifted yet again, but he managed simply to grip strongly and breathe steadily as the stationary steel roller coaster continued its wild ride.

"Let me get you some water…," the slightly older seaman offered, filling the cup he'd brought with him. "Here, rinse," Miller instructed gently, squatting to keep his shipmate from having to move, or even look up. He knew any shift could set off another round of sick.

Biggs accepted it with trembling hand, nodding his thanks slightly.

That's when Miller saw it. "Shit, Biggs; you're bleeding!" He turned the clammy head toward him, even as the inspectee weakly tried batting away the concerned hand. The gash along his eyebrow was small, and deep, but drying, like the tell-tale trickle down his cheek and chin.

"I'm OK," Biggs protested. "Bumped myself in a really bad swell. Least of my worries right now…" He meant as much the social shame as the upset stomach and sweats.

"Well you're ugly enough without an open head wound given ya by a toilet…," Miller started to joke again, grabbing some toilet paper and dabbing lightly to get a better look at the source.

But the instant and strongly hurt expression caught him short. He'd literally added insult to injury; and the new cook had no energy left for stoic filters.

"I'm kidding," Miller stopped and promised, honestly. "Just trying to lighten the situation. Lemme see."

Biggs' face didn't soften much, but he didn't stop the inspection or continued treatment.

Miller noted the patient also didn't move to make the care easier on the bigger man. Squeezed into the small space, and mindful they were both basically on the bathroom floor, he tried to keep his own mind off that discomfort by talking, if not joking. "I _am_ sorry you're not feeling well. I was a little green my first cruise on calm seas… Guess I'm lucky the Doc's anti-nausea meds work really well for me."

Biggs looked up at him, eyebrows incredulous. "Meds?"

"Free in sick bay; one of the few things we're not short on as one of the only ships at sea. Lots of folks take 'em. No one told you?"

"More fun I guess to watch the landlubber suffer," he concluded coolly.

"Well," Miller decided to remain honest in the vulnerable moment they were sharing, "you haven't exactly made a lot of effort to make friends. It helps if you're nice…"

"Most folks haven't been the nicest to me."

Miller sighed. "All the new guys get ribbed. I did. It's just part of joining the family, making friends."

"I didn't come to make friends," Biggs half-whispered in protest.

"It's not a reality show, dude," not sure if he'd been referencing the old television meme. "We're a crew, a team… And if you weren't looking for that, then why did you sign up?"

Biggs shot him a look, clearly not happy that the medical intervention was becoming the friendly chat he'd just indicated he wasn't seeking. "Because I clearly love being on the water…"

That was the second land-vs-sea reference he'd made, despite his apparent desire not to share. Mille smiled, rather than sigh, at the sarcasm. "I take it you didn't grow up near water?"

"More a 'sea of grass'…"

"Like the Great Plains?" Miller smiled. "So you joined the Navy? You knew what that word meant, right?"

Calmer now, the younger man was no more chatty for the gentle ribbing.

"I'm from Iowa," Miller offered.

Biggs sat silently for a moment, as if deciding whether sharing might better move the conversation to completion. To whatever end, he finally reciprocated, "Kansas."

"Well, nice to meet you, farmboy to farmboy."

"I'm not…," Biggs began to reassert some separation.

"…throwing up any longer," Miller interrupted, with a stern but friendly look. "You're welcome." He'd decided not to push further. His amicable intentions were clear, and the newcomer could take or leave the implied connection, if and when he chose.

Focusing on the collegial role in the meanwhile, Miller further suggested, "If you're up for the walk, you should swing by sickbay to get that cut looked at—if only because you'll be handling my food. And grab some meds while you're there."

Seeing no comeback forthcoming, he asked earnestly. "Are you well enough?" _To be left alone?_

Biggs nodded, appreciating the help he'd already gotten, along with the space he was being offered.

"Keep the cup," the older sailor nodded back, as he stood, and headed across the deck to brush his teeth in the aft head, and to let Biggs recover in private. He'd check quietly on his way back to bed; but had done what he could, and hopefully what was needed.

* * *

 _tbc..._


End file.
